


let the stars decide (where we belong)

by ambitioncutsusdown



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (aka Isaac is human), Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 12:13:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambitioncutsusdown/pseuds/ambitioncutsusdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I didn’t know we had plans.” </p><p>“We didn’t. But we do now.” </p><p>Stiles arches an eyebrow at his boyfriend, waiting for elaboration, but all Isaac does is stuff his hand in his pocket and take it out again, holding up – </p><p>“Oh,” Stiles says, a slow smirk growing on his lips. </p><p>Joints.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let the stars decide (where we belong)

**Author's Note:**

> Because there can never be enough shotgunning fics, right? 
> 
> (alternatively called: in which I should be studying but that's just not happening)
> 
> ((unbeta'd, so all mistakes/vagueness are mine))

It’s late in the evening when Stiles’ alone-time is interrupted. He’d carefully panned it out, on a night where Scott is with Allison and his father is watching baseball, and he can lock himself into his bedroom and do whatever he wants. A tap on the window lets those plans disappear however, making Stiles look up from his laptop and eventually get out of bed to unlock it.

He’s not such much confused as pleasantly surprised when he sees Isaac, making way so the guy can step into his room and dust off his pants and jacket. Which, Stiles notices, is his leather one again and Stiles wonders where it came from and why it’s back now.

He looks down his own body, jeans a size too big riding low on his hips. He thinks the shirt he’s wearing is one of Scott that Isaac was wearing once and left at Stiles’ house (so it’s Stiles’ now). Prime example of fashion. Stiles shrugs to himself.

“I hate your window,” Isaac states. It’s not a greeting but for Isaac it counts as one anyway.

“I didn’t know we had plans,” Stiles retorts.

They should get an award for friendliest pair out there. Maybe they make mugs for that, Stiles wonders, and maybe he should get a couple of them. If Isaac ever stops drinking soda and starts drinking coffee.

“We didn’t. But we do now.”

Stiles arches an eyebrow at his boyfriend, waiting for elaboration, but all Isaac does is stuff his hand in his pocket and take it out again, holding up –

“Oh,” Stiles says, a slow smirk growing on his lips.

Joints.

“Yeah, we _definitely_ have plans,” he says, making Isaac smirk as well.

Honestly, they were made for each other.

***

Fifteen minutes later they’re both sitting in Stiles’ jeep (after Stiles dashed downstairs to ask if he could go over to Isaac since Scott wasn’t at home, and the knowing look his father gave him is enough to traumatize Stiles forever, but let’s be real. It’s better if his father thinks they’re having sex than that they’re doing drugs).

“Where to?” Stiles asks.

“Drive to the woods. I know some place we won’t be interrupted or seen,” Isaac replies.

Stiles nods and starts his car. The engine roars as they take off, the ride silent apart from the soft noise of the radio and their combined breathing. Isaac has his hand on Stiles’ thigh, squeezing it every time they come to a stop and sliding a little bit higher every time Stiles takes a turn. It’s heavy, warm, makes Stiles wants to squirm already and they haven’t even done anything yet. It’s not Stiles’ fault that just thinking about it is enough to send little shivers down his spine, mind already spinning with what has yet to come, with all the possibilities and ideas he is sure will happen. Weed usually equals some pretty good orgasms; at least it had in the past, so he’s looking forward to it.

It’s been ages since they smoked together. Well, more like a little over two months, but it still feels too long for Stiles. It’s nice when they’re together. And it’s thanks to drugs they made out nearly half a year ago, so Stiles figures it’s a little bit of tradition.

Not long after, Stiles parks near the woods, tugging Isaac closer to press the shortest but dirtiest kiss to his lips that Stiles can manage, setting the tone for the rest of the evening. He’s grinning when he gets out of the car, waits until Isaac has gotten a blanket out of the trunk, and locks his jeep.

Their hands find one another as they go into the woods, Stiles trusting Isaac’s knowledge to guide them to the right spot without tripping over or running into wild animals.

It’d be a shame of their evening was ruined why minor injuries. Or major. Just injuries in general.

“Here we are,” Isaac says a short ten minutes later, showing Stiles the place he meant. It’s secluded, the trees standing close enough so they can’t be seen, but that also means that the little moonlight they have, is blocked. Stiles can barely make out the edges of Isaac’s jaw as it is, let alone if they’re both going to get stoned and probably stay here for the better part of the night.

“Cool,” he still says, sinking down in the grass and pulling Isaac down next to it. It’s a little bit wet with dew, but not so much that it becomes bothersome. They’ve got their picnic blanket anyway, keeping their clothes dry and preventing them from catching a cold.

They lay next to each other for a while, touching from shoulders to ankles, staring up at the sky.

Or that is what Stiles thinks Isaac is staring at anyway, but when he turns his head to look at him, he finds out that Isaac is watching him, probably has been for a while. He smiles and Isaac returns his smile, slow and lazy, easy in the way being together is.

“Let’s do this,” Stiles whispers, eyes glinting when Isaac nods, searches his pocket and takes out a joint and a lighter. He offers it to Stiles, who takes it without hesitation, brushing his fingers over Isaac’s.

He sits up to light the joint, remembers the last time he tried to do it lying down (he nearly set his nose on fire, not one of his brightest moments). He closes his eyes as he takes the first drag, inhaling just shallowly since it’s been a while and he doesn’t know how strong these are, but he manages just fine, slowly exhaling again, blowing smoke into the air.

“Good?” Isaac questions.

All Stiles can do is nod, smile at Isaac, offer him the joint in return. He licks his lips as he watches Isaac inhale, watches him hold the smoke for a few seconds before slowly letting it go. “Good,” he agrees, gets on his back again.

Stiles shifts around so he can rest his head on Isaac’s chest, his heartbeat pounding in Stiles’ ear. If he tilts his head a little, he can see Isaac’s throat working, his lips forming a round ‘O’ whenever he breathes out.

He takes the joint again when it’s offered, takes drag. He can slowly feel his body relax already, a pleasant fog clouding his mind, just taking the edge of everything and leaving him with comfortable warmth.

“Should do this more often,” he murmurs, feels more than hears Isaac hum. He looks up only to see Isaac still watching him, lip stuck between his teeth. “Why’re you looking at me?” he asks, raises an eyebrow.

Isaac shrugs and it jostles Stiles, so he sits up again, inhales again, hands the joint to Isaac before he exhales. “You’re my boyfriend,” Isaac replies before bringing it to his lips again, as if that is the answer to everything and explains why Isaac’s eyes are dark, why his lips are plump and wet, why his body seems to radiate heath that lures Stiles in.

“Yeah,” Stiles says nonetheless, smiling. “Boyfriend.”

With a movement more stable and elegant than Stiles had expected, he slings his leg over Isaac’s waist, straddling his hips and grinning down at Isaac, who looks a little bit shocked but also a lot pleased.

Stiles moves his hips once, grinding them down. A low groan rumbles through him. “Fuck, pot always makes me horny,” he complains, which makes Isaac laugh, because he knows, the bastard.

In retaliation, Stiles bucks down again, feeling his cock stir in his jeans, and he’s glad those jeans are not the right size because this makes everything so much easier.

He leans down to kiss Isaac again, quickly licks into his mouth and hums at the taste, pushing down once more when Isaac laughs again, because his boyfriend is an evil dick.

When Stiles pulls away again, their lips are slick with spit, which should probably be grosser than Stiles thinks it is.

Swiftly, he takes the joint from Isaac’s fingers again, inhales deeply, smirking around it when he feels Isaac’s eyes on his mouth. Now Isaac’s hands are free, they both end up clenched in Stiles’ shirt, probably leaving stretchmarks with his fingers (which is Scott is going to kill him for once he finds out that Stiles stole the shirt Isaac stole from him).

He leans forward again, brushes his lips over Isaac’s and slots their mouths together, keeps still and he slowly breathes out.

And that is definitely Isaac moaning, which makes everything ten times better. He tilts his head away and lets out the rest of the smoke, his hips rotating over Isaac’s, never easing up the pressure until they’re both fully hard.

“Again,” Isaac whispers hoarsely.

“You are so _high_ ,” Stiles chuckles, but he repeats his motions anyway, keeping the smoke in his mouth and exhaling into Isaac’s mouth, this time turning it into a kiss that is pure filth, both of them moaning into it. Isaac arches up underneath him, but Stiles uses his free hand to push him down again.

Nearly the entire joint is gone now, and Stiles keeps breathing out the last drags into Isaac’s mouth. By the time he’s finished, Isaac is positively trembling underneath him. Stiles is just coherent enough to put out the joint so it won’t set anything on fire, but then he gives in to the buzz of arousal that is running through him, kisses Isaac again, deep and needy, his hands roaming Isaac’s hair and chest, rolling his hips so his ass is grinding over Isaac’s cock.

“Fuck,” they both curse almost at the same time, breathing too heavily to keep the kiss up any longer.

Isaac is the one who first undoes Stiles’ jeans, and then pulls down his own zipper, be it with a little more difficulty, but Stiles is the one who effectively frees their dicks, shifts his hips so they’re lined up next to each other, and wraps his hand around them, creating friction that has never felt better than in this moment.

“Fuck, yeah,” he hisses, rests his forehead against Isaac’s, who is staring up at him, his pupils so dilated Stiles swears his eyes have never been this dark.

After a couple of strokes, Isaac’s hand joins his, making his grip just that little bit tighter. Isaac is thrusting up into his hand as well, creating even more friction, and Stiles is sure he’s going to pass out any moment now from lack of air and sheer awesomeness. He's leaking heavily, kind of always does, but this seems worse. He’s thankful for it though, since none of them thought of bringing lube and this is just as good, making his hand slicker and his movements smoother.

“Yeah, Stiles,” Isaac whispers again, leads the movements of Stiles’ hand since his one is on top, sets for a slow but firm rhythm that makes Stiles’ eyes roll back into his skull. He’s lost all ability of speech, but Isaac hasn’t, which Stiles _loves_ because there is nothing better than when Isaac is vocal.

“So fucking hot, Stiles. Look at you, so fucking eager. Can hardly wait to get a hand on your cock, can you? And how you look – you want it, don’t you? Want it but you can’t have it, not yet, just a bit more, yeah? For me. God, you’re so… Jesus, just wanna freaking keep you like this, always on the edge for me. M’gonna completely _wreck_ you one day, make you fly high without this stuff. Fuck, just… _yeah_ , like that, just a little bit…” he ends off in a plea, speeding up their hands.

“C’mon Isaac, fucking _c’mon_ , I gotta…” Stiles whispers, begs, positive he’s going to come undone any second down and needing for Isaac to be right there with him.

Isaac nods at him, tugs Stiles closer to by his hair so they can kiss again, letting out a moan that is just obscene and goes right through Stiles, and whispers, _“now.”_

Almost immediately, Stiles’ back arches, his body tensing. He’s moaning through his release, shuddering above Isaac as he shoots ropes of come over Isaac’s stomach, and shirt. Isaac is right behind him, staring wide-eyed at Stiles and reaching his climax seconds after Stiles does, only adding up to the mess between them.

They’re breathing harshly, staring at each other with satisfied grins on their face. Isaac is the first one to catch his breath, wipes his hand on his shirt (it’s ruined anyway, whatever), tucks himself back in and Stiles right after, who is nuzzling his face into Isaac’s neck to hide a whimper when he does so.

“Mmh,” Stiles hums lowly, sagging down on Isaac, no doubt getting come stains on his own shirt as well, but he can’t bring himself to care. “Rest now. Go back to the car after,” he says.

 Isaac huffs out a laugh but nods. “Sure, babe.”

***

Stiles is not sure what time it is when he wakes up, but it’s less dark and he can hear birds from _somewhere_ all around them. He wakes Isaac with soft kisses, chuckles at his sleepy noises, but waits patiently until his boyfriends blinks his eyes open

 “Hi,” he drawls, amused, shrugs at Isaac’s questioning expression. “We should get breakfast at my place. And morning sex. In that order.”

And when Isaac smirks, well, he can’t help but return it. 

**Author's Note:**

> as always, [here](http://ambitioncutsusdown.tumblr.com/)'s the tumblr, hmu if you wanna share feelings! I appreciate all comments or reactions, and also I might do prompts :)


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